


Fever

by literati42



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Suicide Attempt, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, JT and Malcolm friendship, JT needs a hug this time too, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Mental Health Issues, Sickfic, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 22:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21260462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literati42/pseuds/literati42
Summary: Malcolm gets sick on a stakeout and when Gil can't get there, JT is stuck taking care of him. JT is not thrilled, not at all.For Whumptober 2019 prompt "Delirium"





	Fever

**Author's Note:**

> For whumptober2019 by @whumptober2019 on tumblr.  
Let's be honest, I'm probably going to continue doing the prompts even though October is ending, because I, Scrooge like, believe in keeping whumptober alive in my heart all year long.
> 
> We talked about Delirium in my neuropsych class today so I couldn't help but write this.
> 
> As always, follow me on twitter @themythofpsyche for about my thoughts on Prodigal Son.
> 
> ******I am taking Prodigal Son fic requests!!*****

Delirium

They were on a stakeout, which was not JT’s ideal choice to spend his Halloween. He sighed, trying to ignore the profiler he was once again stuck with. It was easier than normal. Bright was uncharacteristically quiet, and not fidgeting nearly as much. JT narrowed his eyes and glanced over, half afraid of what Bright would be doing in the absence of his usual annoying behavior.

Bright was doing nothing. He just had his forehead leaned against the car window.

“No random facts about the perp? You dead?”

Malcolm slowly raised his head, groaned, and leaned back on the window. Then suddenly, he sat up, swaying as he did. “There!” he pointed out the window. JT jerked his eyes forward, but the dimly lit street was empty. His eyes whipped back as Malcolm opened the car door and got out. “Bright, Bright.” He jumped out, glaring. “What are you doing?”

“Did you see that?” Bright asked, his voice sounding off in a way JT was struggling to place. He pointed up. “He flew away.”

“He…flew away?” JT repeated. “Dammit. You would finally fully break, and it would be on my watch. Now Gil will blame me.” He reached over and grabbed Malcolm’s arm. Heat radiated off the profiler’s skin. JT cursed again, switching his grip as Bright swayed on his feet. JT pushed him against the car to keep him upright, eyes scanning to make sure they were not being approached by anyone. “How long have you been feeling sick?” he growled.

“Mmnot sick,” Bright said, whining. He then doubled over and puked on the street. JT had his phone out, glaring at the mess while holding Malcolm’s arm still. The phone rang once.

“JT?”

“You need to come get your kid,” JT said. He heard Gil sigh, deep and unsurprised.

“How bad?”

“Fever, puking, all the best things,” JT replied.

“I can’t get there. Not right away, Powell and I are approaching the other suspect. Pull off the stakeout and take him home.”

“How did he become my problem?”

“Just take him home, JT. As soon as I’m off I’ll take over from there.”

JT hung up, not his most respectful moment, but honestly. He pulled Bright back to get him in the car. The man looked terrible.

He ultimately decided to put him in the back, letting him curl up on the seat. He sighed, driving to Malcolm’s place.

“Do you have keys?” JT asked as he got out, eyeing the apartment building with its graffiti on the outside. He looked back to find Bright staring blankly at the ceiling of the car. “Bright?” He cursed again. “Not cool, man.” He opened the car door and pulled him upright. Bright groaned and fell bonelessly against him. “Stop that.” JT could not believe this was happening to him. He should get a medal, he decided. He began searching Bright for keys, noticing that the man was completely unresistant. He told himself the feeling in his gut was not worry. No, he would have to care about this man more than an obligation to feel worried, so clearly he was no worried. He finally found the keys in Bright’s suit jacket pocket, and then pulled Malcolm’s arm over his shoulder. He half carried the man to the door and up the stairs, getting his first look around.

“Weapons…a whole display case of weapons?” he said, “Dude, you are crazy as hell.” Malcolm suddenly grabbed his arm.  
“No…No…” he practically clawed JT’s arm trying to get out of his grip.

JT jumped back and the profiler sunk to the floor. JT kneeled down, hands out. “Bright, it’s me. It’s JT.” The profiler pushed himself back until he hit the wall, hugging himself. The detective let out a long breath and sat on the floor, watching him. “You’re like taking care of a kid, you know that?” he said. He remembered being a child, how his aunt would take care of him each time he was sick. She always had the most patient expression. She always made sure he had fluids, was cozy, felt safe. She must not have been much older than JT now, he thought. She must have gotten tired and annoyed, but she never showed it. “You promise not to remember any of this, right?” JT said. Bright did not answer. The profiler stayed shivering by the wall, so JT went over and pulled him back up, this time ignoring his protest. He maneuvered him to the bed and stopped short.

Restraints? There were restraints on the bed.

JT’s eyebrows hit the roof. “Okay, then.” He pushed Malcolm onto the bed, and immediately the profiler curled up. “Come on, you can’t sleep like that.” He grabbed onto the jacket and began maneuvering it. Malcolm’s whole body was noodle-like, flopping around even as his eyes kept darting to something only he could see. JT tossed the expensive-looking jacket at a nearby chair and pulled the covers up over Malcolm. He hesitated. JT had never seen Malcolm without long sleeves before, and a faint trace hinted at a possible reason why. JT gently nudged his arm, turning it ever so slightly to confirm his suspicions. There were long, white lines running up his arms from wrist to nearly elbow. Scars. There were little ones too, ones that would not have been as deadly.

Malcolm gave another shiver, and JT pulled the blanket the rest of the way up.

Silently, the detective went over to one of the chairs and took a seat there so he could watch over the profiler in case things worsened. With Bright, things escalating seemed to always be a ready possibility. He watched Bright mutter, his head rolling back and forth, but the profiler did not come back to consciousness.

An hour later, the door opened, and JT looked up to see a woman come up the stairs. She was immaculate from her wavy hair to her pointy heels. She saw him, raised an eyebrow, and looked him up and down. “Who are you?” She had a level of suspicion in her voice he recognized from meeting a girl’s parents.

“Detective Tarmel,” he said, standing. “And you’re Mrs…”

“Whitly. Detective?” she repeated. “You work with my son?”

“Yes.”

“Just work?” she asked.

Oh. Oh. He glanced at Malcolm. Huh. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Ma’am? You better have served in the military and not be implying anything about age,” she said, voice arch. She walked over, frowning. “He wasn’t answering his phone…oh, Malcolm.” She pressed her hand to his forehead, clicking her tongue. “You never take care of yourself do you?” She was soft in that moment as if she forgot a second that she was observed, and then the walls were back up. “I have him now, Detective. You can go.” With a wave she dismissed him, hand on her hip.

JT got up and left. He felt a little like when a break came in a case. The apartment, the mother, the scars, the fact that she suspected he might be a boyfriend. A whole lot of who Bright was opened up to him all at once. But JT was no profiler. The pieces did not come together for him, they just stayed in his mind, pieces that made the whole even more muddled.

Malcolm Bright was a mystery he never intended to solve but still kept getting evidence for.

_-_-_

Two days later, Malcolm was sitting in the morgue, on one of the unused tables as if the idea of sitting where a dead body was previously lying did not phase him at all. Anyone else and Edrisa would have scolded them, but for him she seemed delighted. Edrisa smiled, “Detectives,” she said, as she walked over. She handed Malcolm a thermos, which he took with a weak smile.

“Thank you, Edrisa.” He was pale, gaunt, and looked like he could fall over with a strong glance.

“Oh, Mr. Bright,” she replied, practically floating, “You don’t have to thank me. It will help, okay?” He nodded, taking a sip. He managed to hold it together until she turned around. Then JT saw the disgusted look on his face. He also saw Gil raise an eyebrow at him and mime drinking it. Bright gave a silent sigh, but he did drink it. JT shook his head. They had inherited a child. A confusing, complicated, messy, and currently sick child.

**Author's Note:**

> Malcolm Bright in my story and in the show demonstrates suicidal behaviors. If you or anyone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts, go to the National Suicide Lifeline website:  
https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/  
They have a 24/7 help line to call, a number to text, and information on suicide. You can also learn more at the National Institute of Mental Health's pages on Depression  
https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/depression/index.shtml  
And PTSD  
https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/post-traumatic-stress-disorder-ptsd/index.shtml  
Both of which Malcolm likely has


End file.
